Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Good.
With the main driveway of our property mostly empty, the accompanying silence gives me the chance to draw her into a conversation without getting too close.
"What's your name?"
She lifts her shoulders in an I-don't-know shrug, and my lips twitch.
"Do you know who I am?"
She shakes her head, and I chuckle. "Liar."
Another shrug, which I assume is her way of telling me to think whatever I want.
"I'm no evil man, ciliegina mia—-"
She skids to a stop and turns around to glare at me.
Interessante...
"So you think I'm evil?"
She rejects this with an impatient gesture with her hand, and my lips curve.
Ah.
"So you do think I'm evil, but that's not what bothers you. Rather, what you didn't appreciate—-is me calling you my little cherry."
Her fingers curls into fists against her sides, but this only makes me want to provoke her even more.
"Perché?" Why? "Do you doubt that I am the man to pop it?"
Her eyes widen with outrage, but just when she's about to tear her mask off her face to chew me out—-
"Ynez!"
She breaks into a run without looking back, and fuck, fuck, fuck!
I'm fast, but I'm no fucking wolf to track her by scent, and I lose her the moment she joins the sea of girls wearing Boston-Says-Boo shirts and dancing to the main act up on stage.
FUCK!
I waste no time in trekking up to the main house, and Cesare is visibly surprised to see me come barging inside our security room in the basement.
My brother swings around to face me, and behind him is a wall of monitors showing real-time footage of what's taking place outside our property. The cameras installed inside that people see are all dummies; what we do here is our business alone, and even if that means not having video evidence of any instance we're under attack, it's a risk that our famiglia is willing to take.
"È successo qualcosa?" Did something happen?
"I'm looking for a girl."
The worry on Cesare's face immediately turns into exasperation, and I shake my head, saying, "This one is different."
"You've never said that about the others, I'll give you that." My brother's tone, however, remains slightly skeptical, but I take no offense since he's only stating the truth. Women are nothing but objects for hire in my life, and for the large part, I know it's the same for all of my brothers...except Giancarlo, of course.
I throw an impatient look at the other guys on duty, asking, "Who's in charge here of admissions?"
Cesare points to a younger man seated at the back, and the latter straightens nervously in his chair. "Sì, signore?"
"How many guests named Ynez do we have registered?"
His fingers tap furiously on the keyboard. "Just...one, signore."
"Email me everything you have on her."
"Sì, signore."
My phone vibrates in my pocket a moment later, and after just a few clicks, I finally know what my little cherry looks like.
Ciao, ciliegina mia.
Part II
One
Massimo
Five years later...
Boston's most popular men's club was closed for the evening, but this came as no surprise to virtually any resident of the city.
La Tana, which was Italian for 'the lair', was owned by Potenziana Marchetti, and tomorrow was her grandson Cesare's wedding. Tonight's private function could only be Cesare's bachelor party, but as for what exactly was taking place within La Tana's luxuriously masculine premises...
That was why members of the paparazzi had been hanging outside the club since morning. The only invited guests seemed to be Cesare's brothers...plus a Michelin-starred chef who had flown from Tokyo and headed straight to La Tana from the airport.
The night wore on, and those still waiting outside the club began feeling restless. Any and every attempt to bribe employees into taking photos were completely rejected, and with the club's security armed to the teeth, no one had been foolish or desperate enough to even think of sneaking in.
"Something wonderfully fucked-up must be happening inside," one of the reporters muttered suspiciously, and the others nodded in agreement.
"What do you think it could be?"
The question, albeit absently tossed out by one of the photographers, unexpectedly led to a round of betting.
I'm thinking some of those girls we saw entering the club weren't really employees but strippers in disguise.
Nah, Cesare Marchetti always plays it smart. I'm going to bet they've got strippers performing online, and everything's anonymous.
You all have no fucking imagination. Dude's a billionaire, so strippers are too fucking basic. I'd bet a thousand bucks they're holding a virginity auction inside, and winner gets to do the girl in front of everyone.
The conjectures became increasingly outrageous from that point on, but what no one would ever correctly guess was how all of them were completely wrong.
Rather than being the wildly debauched party that everyone assumed it would be, Cesare's last night was simply a chance for the bridegroom and his half-brothers to talk and catch up, and instead of booze and drugs, the four ruggedly handsome men were seated around a teppanyaki table and enjoying the highest grade of wagyu that money could buy.